Qualia
by Spinnd
Summary: Movieverse. Missing scenes: After all he'd been through, Alastor Moody would've wanted to see the madness that was Barty Crouch Jr. Chpt 4 uploaded Complete. Reviews much appreciated.
1. Locating Consciousness

_Disclaimer:__ All characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros, and to Mike Newell and the production cast and crew who brought them to life. I.e. they're not mine._

_A/N:__ Muse wouldn't let me sleep until I got this out of my system. Story is movie-verse, and plays loosely with what is written in GoF. Apologies to purists; this is my take on that missing scene in the movie, and how I imagined a Moody-meets-Crouch Jr. scenario would play out. Am not a big HP fan, so do excuse discrepancies and inaccuracies – unlike the other 5 billion people, I have not read past GoF. _

_So I do hope you'll enjoy this odd, cobbled together in 4 hours, attempt. Cheers! _

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Alastor pulled the shirt on his large frame, and glowered at his reflection in the mirror as his stiff fingers worked the buttons.

They had earlier released him from his makeshift tomb, where the bastard had kept him for… how many months? He'd lost track, down in the deep, damp dark. But he'd held onto one notion those long hours; that when he got out, he would kill Barty Crouch Jr. slowly, and with great relish.

Professor Dumbledore had taken him to the hospital wing, where he was given a soporific potion that knocked him out like a light.

He had come to, some time later. Dumbledore, with his impeccable timing, had been there to gently order him to change and clean up. He had stood staring at the sink dumbly for a minute or so before reaching out a leaden hand to run the water.

It had brought him to his senses, the cool fast-flowing water. Or what was left of it after his period of solitary confinement. But it had been enough to jumpstart his brain for him to clean himself of the accumulated muck and grit and to work the clothes onto his self once he was dry.

When he emerged from the bathroom, the Head Master was seated on an old chair with a spot of tea brewing on the table beside.

"Tea, Alastor? It does cure a remarkable variety of ills."

He had scowled fiercely at the old man, looked at the delicate china cups in disdain.

"Where's Crouch?"

"He's still in the basement where we left him- Alastor!"

He stormed out the room, ignoring Dumbledore's unconvincing protests and cautions. He knew that Dumbledore, despite himself, would let him exorcise his demons, somewhat.

Snape had assumed guard of the Death Eater while the others had convened to decide how best to deal with the situation. When he was being led away from the room, Moody had caught snatches of conversation in which "Azkaban" was mentioned. The Kiss; he had rightly assumed.

Well, he wasn't going to let a bloody Dementor get to Crouch before he did.


	2. The Thought Experiments

The door slammed open, hinges squeaking furiously at their rough treatment. Snape jumped up just as Moody barreled through, but didn't stop him when he grabbed the slight man off the chair and sent him to the floor with his fist.

"Alastor!" He heard Dumbledore's voice echo around the stone walls. He merely pinned the thin frame to the floor, clenched his right fist, and struck the prone man again.

By the time Albus reached him and grabbed hold of his arm, Barty Crouch was spitting blood.

"Good gracious, man, have some control over yourself!" Dumbledore reprimanded, a healthy mix of propriety and ire. "Severus, I expected better of you."

Snape merely shrugged as he reached down to help Dumbledore pull Moody off and up to his feet. With the man's weight off him, Barty curled into a loose ball and coughed hard, breathing through the blood running from his nose.

"This is not the way we do things at Hogwarts."

"The Dementors are going to kill him anyway, what difference would I make?" He spat, itching to at least break a bone or two.

Crouch coughed again, spat blood again, then turned to face them with large green eyes and a deathhead-rictus.

"Alastor Moody." His face twisted as he giggled, insanity writ large. "We meet again. You must have missed me."

Moody snarled and took a step forward as Barty dragged himself up, arm curled around bruised ribs.

"Rot in hell, Death Eater."

He took another step, and stopped as Dumbledore produced his wand and held it in front of him warningly.

"Alastor, stop this. Now."

Barty grinned at him maniacally, but his eyes flicked right when Snape produced his own wand and pointed it straight at him.

"Three 'gainst one," his tongue pushed against his upper teeth, and he hissed, "not very fair is it, Head Master?" His laugh was short and sharp, and grated itself against Moody's ears.

Dumbledore muttered something under his breath. A plain white handkerchief was conjured up on the floor in front of the young man, startling him. Barty looked down slightly confused, grin almost disappearing. His tongue flicked out anxiously. Keeping both eyes on the three men, he bent over gingerly to retrieve the cloth, and fingered the material before carefully wiping the blood from his face. Red streaks were left on both white cloth and pale skin.

"Sit back down, Barty."

Crouch eyed Dumbledore warily, but sat down obediently when Snape gestured his wand at him, dark eyes dangerous.

"Why you protecting him, Albus?" Moody turned his one-eyed glare from the madman to the professor. "He held me in Imperio, infiltrated your school, nearly killed one of your students, and now thanks to him, the Dark Lord has returned-"

"Not to mention he's a bloody loony," Snape added, in perfect seriousness. Barty giggled at that, cocked his head at Snape and flicked his tongue out as if testing the tension in the room.

Dumbledore held Moody's gaze, grey eyes glinting behind glasses.

"All that and more, Alastor, don't think I don't realize that. But I'd think his father would've hoped for young Bartemius to receive fair treatment when in my care, not unnecessary violence. No matter what sins the boy's committed."

"You lie!" Barty Crouch lunged out of his chair, only to be stopped short by a wand, which tip hovered inches from his neck. "You lie, Head Master! Father would've hoped you strike me _dead_ if you caught me!"

"Bloody good idea too, if you ask me," Moody growled, advancing on Barty, grabbing the thin shoulders and shoving him back down on the seat. "Or would he rather see you end your days in a Dementor's embrace?"

Barty flinched, as if physically struck. His face contorted slightly, pained, before his features arranged themselves into yet another manic grin.

"I'd bet he would." He turned to Dumbledore, who had remained silent in the chaos. "You don't know him like I do, Head Master. If I hadn't killed him, he'd most gladly be here to watch me die. Watch as they smother me in their cold. Hear my screams as they tear my soul apart-"

A shudder rippled through him and tore a shrieking laugh from his throat. Alastor took a step back and glanced at Snape, whose normally unreadable expression now held faint traces of revulsion.

"That's what he told me when he died. His eyes…" Another tremor shook him. "I saw it in his eyes."


	3. Interdeterminancy

Alastor silently counted the steps he took that led him down the basement. When he descended the last flight, his mouth quirked in a grin as he concluded that, like the hundred and fifty-eight steps, he'd find the same number of ways to kill his impersonator.

He looked up in time to see Professor McGonagall disappearing through the doorway, the door not quite shutting behind her. He pushed open the door, which creaked low and loud, and no one indicated that they noticed.

"Cornelius Fudge is on his way."

"Good ol' Fudgey! Here to save the day, is he?"

"Shut it, Crouch." Snape dug the wand tip into his cheek, but that only elicited a soft chuckle. McGonagall rounded on him, eyes blazing.

"You've told us everything, Barty. You've confessed, and now you'll be tried for the murder of your father, for the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom, and let's not even start on your association with the Dark Lord. It's the Dementors' Kiss for your, Bartemius. Where's your lord and master now?"

"He has returned and he will reward me!" He spat at her. "Old fool! He will come, and you will wish for death when he's done with you!"

Moody fingered his empty coat pocket, wished kingdoms for a wand, and wondered what Dumbledore would do if he cast the Sectumsempra on Barty Crouch.Minerva McGonagall merely took her glasses off, and regarded the wild young man before her. Then straightened up.

"I can take it from here, Professor Snape." She looked to her left. "Albus, you'd best be seeing to Harry."

The old wizard dipped his head in acknowledgment. As the two men left, McGonagall kept her eye on Moody and her wand on Crouch.

"You might need help with him." He offered, gruff and unsure. What was he sticking around for, anyhow?

She smiled. "Thank you, Alastor. I should be fine."

Barty just smirked at her, tongue flicking out.

Alastor was about to make a move towards them when a cold breeze blew in from the open door. Hinges creaked as they iced over, frost crept up the wood and dug into the grain…

A shiver ran up his spine. This wasn't right. He watched as Barty went white and squeezed his eyes shut, throat working soundlessly as the air around them chilled.

Cornelius had arrived, and a Dementor along with him.


	4. Explanatory Gap

_Author's Note: Sorry, this should've been uploaded ages ago but holidays have their way at delaying uploads. Story's complete – hope you've enjoyed it. Reviews are as always, much appreciated. _

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"Bloody hell, Albus, he didn't even ask him anything! That Dementor just waltzed straight in-"

"There was no need for me to hear anything that lunatic boy had to say!"

Moody rolled his eye as the Minister tried to counter McGonagall's verbal tirade.

"He had it coming. No point putting it off any longer."

"Don't be stupid. It's not Crouch I'm interested in here, it's you and your thick skull. Lord Voldemort's back, and Bartemius would've told you if you hadn't set your Dementor on him like a rabid dog."

Fudge threw his hands up in the air. "I'm not hearing this."

"Oh for Pete's sake."

"Minerva, I'll handle this." Dumbledore spoke for the first time. "Cornelius, you may not believe it, but the three of us heard it from Barty Crouch himself. Not to mention that Harry Potter saw him, fought with him even. He's back, Cornelius. Hiding yourself from that truth won't be helping anyone..."

Moody left them still arguing. He was tired, and even ex-Auror that he was, he still hated feeling a Dementor in close proximity. The cold despair hadn't quite cleared from his head. Nor had the gasping, wrenching cries of a soul ripped from a convulsing body that screamed for his master/mother.

He needed a drink. A nice full mug of butter beer - that would solve him. Chase away the butterflies in his stomach (drown them) and set his mind right. He must be mad, feeling sorry for that madman Bartemius Crouch. Rightly mad, indeed.

Mad Eye Moody. Aye, that was him.


End file.
